


Raising The Stakes (Sporadic Updates)

by Butter_knife



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Soldiers, Don't trust a genocidal dragon to raise kids, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Grima's bad parenting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, Two Morgans and one Grima
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23749249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butter_knife/pseuds/Butter_knife
Summary: Morgan is content working with Grima to destroy the world, so long as she holds his favour. But when the master she reveres so highly introduces Marc into her life, she feels her position is threatened.A test AU to stretch the writing muscles-- where the tactician kiddos compete to be the best through varying degrees of skill, wit, and sabotage.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Raising The Stakes (Sporadic Updates)

In the presence of her master, Morgan dips her head. It is Respect, fear and loyalty, which drive her to remain in the service of one, that has proven himself capable of shaking the very foundations of the world. Her gaze is fixed to the cracked and ruined marble that supports her kneeling and insignificant frame. She exists to serve, and in obediently doing so, fulfils that requirement. It is a simple concept. One that is easy to abide.

“Morgan.”

The young tactician can hear the faintest trace of an echo, but that is mostly overrun by the sound of the jittering heart beat that pounds in the canal of her ears. The fell vessel looming overhead, never typically addresses her by name. Not unless she has displeased him. There are the rare instances in which he might speak it in passing to others, but those times are few and far between. In the dimly lit throne room, she feels her chest constrict, and her breath become short. The young tactician’s mind races with various possibilities. What could she have done to draw his ire?

Despite her dread, Morgan lifts her eyes to meet with those of her lord. Grima is not one for idling the time away, and as his subordinate, she is inevitably well versed in the nature of disciplinary action that her master prefers to take. The girl cannot afford herself the luxury of stalling.

“You recall the details of your most recent task, correct?” The gaze of the dark god alights upon his servant, speaking as soon as the soft brown notes of her iris catch the blazing ferocity of his own crimson ones. There is an immediate and unsaid recognition of her anxiety, shown in the slight crinkle of the fell vessels nose, and the way in which he almost rolls his eyes without truly doing so. He gestures for her to stand in spite of his own indignation, and as she rises to her full height, Morgan clearly feels the expectation that emanates from her master. She can see it in how he postures himself, the quiet assessment he gives her from where he stands.

“Yes.” Her acknowledgement of the mountain skirmish ever having happened, stings at Morgan’s pride like a vulnerary hitting an open wound. It is quite possibly the lowest point in her fledgling career as a tactician, and black a mark against her otherwise formidable capabilities. “Our forces were able to hold off the enemy advance, but the risen troops were severely thinned out in the aftermath. Because of my failings, we now risk losing an advantageous position.” she proceeds her recount of events mutely, her tongue struggles to articulate the words, and her voice strains to project itself from whatever malady that now chooses to accost her throat.

The fell dragon nears ever closer toward her. His footfall is slow and rhythmic. Deliberate. Each resounding thud of thick leather soles against stone, carry with them a cry of damnation. Incompetence among the ranks of the fell dragon’s army is considered unacceptable. So for Morgan, who endeavours for perfection-- this is a difficult experience. “And do you know why it is that you failed?” Grima asks, knowing full well that it pains her to say. There is the smallest indication of a lilt in his tone, which suggests to her that her master is amused with how she squirms under the weight of his question. The invitation to answer hangs loosely in the air over their heads, condemning. And though Morgan tries, she finds that she can no longer bring herself to speak of it. This earns her a sigh, and Grima’s form halts in its advance.

“You were careless.” He states it so plainly that Morgan almost misconstrues his bluntness for leniency. Coming from anyone else, the words would not mean much. Most people, regardless of age, assert their opinions without knowing the first thing of what it is they speak. But Grima is different. He does not say just for the sake of saying. A trait that Morgan admires, and strives to emulate.

But for him to be so harsh with her now, and over this of all things—leaves a sour taste in her mouth. “But Master Grima, I—“ She tries, but her words catch in the back of her throat. A cold front blossoms in her chest at the icy disapproval translated in her master’s expression. It isn’t normally in her place to argue with him. Much less so where interrupting is concerned. The fact of her position did not suddenly change for her benefit. She is aware of this. So in realizing her mistake, the young tactician shrinks away from the challenge. Her attention breaks from the vessel, to the floor, and then back again.

“This is not a matter of failure.” Grima proceeds before the girl can work up an apology. His tone has taken on an undercurrent of warning, and Morgan knows better than to dismiss it. “You apply yourself wholly in everything you do. And, while that is not necessarily a bad thing, it is very clearly having an effect on your performance.”

“Forgive my ignorance master, but I fear I do not understand.”

Grima tsks with an, “of course you would say that,” and Morgan flinches.

“Regardless,” He decides with an air of finality. “Loyal as you may be, I cannot continue to rely upon you as I have been.” Again, Morgan finds herself wanting nothing more than to protest. Grima must have sensed this, because he dismisses her quiet objections with one simple utterance.

“Marc.”

Out from the darkest recesses of the colonnades, as though summoned from nowhere, steps forth what appears to be a boy. It moves to stand at Grima’s side, hiding the full extent of its nerves well. Black hair frames a face that clings to the last vestiges of childhood. A tacticians cloak not unlike her own set upon its shoulders. ‘Marc’ smiles a small but bright smile, although Morgan is far too distracted by the implications of its presence to acknowledge it.  
  
…Is she being replaced?

The stranger spares a glance to the fell vessel for approval. Once it seems it has obtained such, it nods its head toward Morgan, addressing her as a stranger would. “I look forward to working with you.” It says, arrogant to the fact that she is far less enthused about this than it apparently is. Her fears are allayed, but the shock of them potentially being realized still lingers.

Still, Morgan does not understand the extent to which this working relationship spans. She hesitantly makes to broach the subject, but it is her master who affirms her suspicions before she can vocalize them. “From now on, Marc will serve under me as your peer.” Grima’s words are absolute, his gaze is trained on her, expecting— again. “Do not disappoint me.”

“Of course not, Master Grima.” Morgan could never, even if she wanted to.  
  
  


**\------**

The first thing Morgan notes about Marc, is their indelible curiosity toward everything. A ten minute walk down the old and crumbling halls of Plegia castle, turn into a twenty minute walk at some ancient and still intact sets of hieroglyphs. Then a thirty minute walk once Marc found itself enticed into a thorough exploration, of what Morgan assumes, used to serve as a room for some manner of negotiation. She is unsure of exact specifics, the affairs of royalty past is not her domain of interest.

The hour begins to close around them, and Morgan is forced to drag her junior to their intended location herself.

“This is your room.” She states with a gesture, and all the aplomb of someone who seeks to make a quick exit. She releases the collar of their cloak from her grasp, but Marc does not seem to understand that this is where they part ways. “It’s a lot bigger than I expected,” they hum, peering through the open arch as if in thought, “is your room the same?” Their expression implies that they wish to see it, and those boyish features, that are the only thing setting them apart from simply wearing a copy of her own face, beg to be indulged.

“No.”

“Ah.”

Morgan turns away to leave, and Marc blithely follows. She stops.

“What are you doing?”

The question comes across as an accusation, and Marc stops in its tracks, eyes framed with a glimmer of uncertainty. Morgan sighs, folding her arms across her chest. “You will lose your way if you wander around.” She explains, a strained emphasis on ‘wander.’ “Stay put.”

Marc, for the most part, appears to be disappointed at this outcome. “I see…” It trails in turn.

  
Then, with a friendly, eager smile it adds “but would it not be better for me to become acquainted with the area as soon as possible?”

  
The girl bites her tongue. “Yes but,” her patience is waning. “It is late. And I have a schedule to keep.”

  
Understanding dawns. “Oh.” The smile returns as quickly as it had vanished. “Some other time then.”

  
“Yes.”

  
The girl is but ten paces down the hall, when Marc calls out again. “What should I do in the meantime?” It misjudges the acoustics, and the resulting echo is carried across to Morgan like the insistent wails of a fog horn.

  
“Study.” She shoots back. After which, she increases her walking speed, and disappears around the corner before any more questions can be thrown her way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my first fic on AO3~ This is mainly a self indulgent AU for me, but if anyone else takes interest or knows of another story with a similar concept, let me know! This chapter was more of an introduction to set things up, but constructive criticism is still very much appreciated. :) I'm in the process of writing the second chapter, but I don't exactly have a consistent update schedule. I'll also be updating tags as I go. There's no real plan, and I'm just letting this thing write itself where it wants to. I can say that I'm not going to be shipping characters at least, so rest assured as far as that's concerned.
> 
> Edit: I decided to plug this amazing Fire Emblem Awakening work, because I love it to pieces, the author is talented, and it deserves all the kudos in the world: [**colour me clear**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23709298)


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